Dark Paradox
by Gabriel Asas
Summary: Set about one year after the end of the Destiny War. Celena is distant and cold, fighting a silent war against herself. Not an original idea, but give it time. My second fic, *Yay*
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I do not own The Vision of Escaflowne, its characters, settings, etc. Please do not sue me, for I am young and poor and know not of the wrong I do. Thank you *^_^*

  
  


AN/ Hey Everybody! This is my second Escafic, well technically, it's my first, though its my second posted. I started this months before Open Road *cough*go read*cough* but I left this at three parts, and ever since its been collecting dust on my floppy. For those of you reading Open Road, fear not, I have not abandoned it! I know I promised a new chapter today, but my stupid beeping floppy disk ate the next three or four chapters yesterday and I really don't feel like re-typing them just yet, since I have to do it from memory. Soon, though. I hate beeping floppies, beep beepy beep beep. Anyway, hope you all enjoy this new old story, but be warned, my writing style has evolved greatly in the last few months, so the first few chapters are short, and nothing special. Humor me. Review please. Thanks bunches,

  
  


~Gabe~ 

  
  


Prologue - A Summer Breeze

  
  


The breeze was cool and light. It brought with it the sweet scent of wildflowers and the slight chill of an upcoming rain. Newly grown fields became churning seas of green and gold and the trees seemed to dance to a silent melody wherever this wind traveled. 

  
  


This wind, bringing smiles to the faces and joy to the spirits of all it touched, made its way over rolling hills, and through lush valleys, until finally gusting over a white stone wall, and into a small, peaceful garden. It blew past a tall man in a dark blue uniform, standing under the canopy of a large willow tree. His long golden hair rustled in the breeze, his eyes scanning every shadow, a gloved hand resting lightly on the pommel of the sword at his hip. The wind then shifted slightly, as the man's attention turned back to the young girl a few paces ahead of him. Her pale green sun dress rippled in the soft gusts, which also blew her short ashen hair into her sad blue eyes, but the girl did not seem to notice. She knelt and placed the bouquet she had been carrying next to the small, unmarked stone by her feet, the same white stone as the garden walls. The wind seemed to caress the young girl's face as she fell to her knees in front of the stone; eyes locked on the flowers she had placed there, the roses, fifteen with petals of the deepest red , and one other, a bud of light gold. The tall man approached the girl, a gentle hand reaching out to rest protectively on her shoulder, only to be pushed away. The young girl, her sad eyes never leaving the roses, was oblivious to the hurt in the tall man's face, or the look of sorrow and worry in his deep blue eyes. A single tear rolled down the young girls pale cheek, only to be blow onto the delicate petals of the yellow rose by the increasing breeze. That was when the rain began.

  
  


AN II/ I know, I know. . . scandalously short, but gimme a break, it's just the prologue. More soon, maybe. . .


	2. Roses and Tears

AN/ Chapter One, still too short, but that's just how this works. My least favorite chapter of _all_ I have written so far, really. If I were you, I just skip this one completely *^_~* Just joking. Anyway, enjoy if you can, and R&R please, Thanks

  
  


~Gabe~

  
  


Part One - Roses and Tears

  
  


Allen Schezar, Knight Caeli, stood silently in the shadows of an ancient willow tree, the largest tree in the oldest garden on the Schezar family estate. The warm summer rain dripped from the canopy of leaves above him onto his slightly bowed head, trickling into his eyes and down his neck, as he watched his sister, Celena, kneeling beside the small white stone with her roses and her tears. He wanted nothing more than to rush over to her, take her into his arms, and make all the sadness and all the pain which had consumed her for the last few months fade away. He remembered when they were both only children, a once upon a time, when he could make her smile with a glance, and her musical laugh, heard so often then, could melt the hardest heart. He remembered, and ached for the simple joys of those years. Then, the world seemed to fall apart. When Allen was eleven years old, his father disappeared, forsaking his family and his responsibilities, and departing on a mad quest for a lost power. Soon after, Celena disappeared as well, taken, he learned years later, by the Zabaich Empire and used in diabolical experiments in an effort to allow them to understand and manipulate a person's fate. Her gentle personality was destroyed, her beautiful smile, her soft laugh, her very soul, was twisted, hideously warped, until nothing of the Celena he had known remained. 

  
  


She became Dilandau Albatou, an evil, sadistic monster, with no conscience, no compassion, only hate. It was this Dilandau, who lead Zaibach's most elite group of soldiers, the Dragon Slayers. Under his command, they were responsible for untold destruction, and the deaths of hundreds of thousands of innocents. But the Dragon Slayers had be dispatched by Van Fanel, the young King of Fanelia, and Dilandau had reverted back to Celena, once after the trauma of these deaths, once in Asturia, and then once more, permanently this time Allen hoped, after the death of the dog-man Jajuka. 

  
  


For the first few weeks after this transformation, it was as if Celena were only a child again. Her mentality, and her emotional stability were that of a six year old, and she truly began to worry Allen. Then, about a month later, she began to mature. It was amazing how quickly it happened, one day she was blissfully unaware of her surroundings, completely enthraled by the movement of a beetle's legs, or the way a leaf moved in the wind, the next she was speaking with people, and going about a daily routine, as if nothing had ever been wrong. However, as she developed, she slowly began to distance herself from the people around her, never allowing anyone, not even Allen himself, to get too close, to break down the emotional walls she seemed to build higher everyday. 

  
  


"What is happening to her?" Allen asked himself, "Why has she become so cold?" 

  
  


She began to spend all of her time in the gardens, most of it in the old quarter. She had a small white stone placed in the middle of the oldest garden, and would go out once a month with a bouquet of fresh roses, sixteen of them, placing them next to the stone, and just sit and stare for hours, sometimes crying, as if it were a grave. Every time, Allen would go with her, stand by and watch her from the shadows, and every time he would try to comfort her in her apparent depression, he was pushed away. This time, however, he would not give up so easily.

  
  


"Celena, please. Tell me what wrong," he pleaded as he knelt beside her, "I might be able to help." 

  
  


"No one can help me," she whispered, eyes never leaving the roses or the stone,

  
  


"Please Celena," Allen began, but was cut of,

  
  


"No. Just go." She said quietly,

  
  


"Celena..." he began again, hand reaching for her arm,

  
  


"NO!" She cried, as she swatted his hand, and pushed him roughly away. Her eyes met his only for a moment, but the coldness, the despair in them, chilled him to the bone. He rose stiffly, as those eyes returned to the roses, then turned smartly on his heel and strode wordlessly out of the garden. Celena, kneeling alone and motionless in the soft rain, was lost in her thoughts, her memories, with the wailing voice inside her head.

  
  


AN/ Ohhh. . . how do I loathe thee, Chapter One, let me count the ways. . . Try to ignore any mistakes, I sure did *^_^* See ya'll later. . . 


	3. Silent Voices

AN/ Okay, this chapter I like much better. Enjoy, please review, thanks

  
  


~Gabe~

  
  


Part Two - Silent Voices

  
  


But were they really her memories? This was the question she had asked herself at least once a day, everyday, for almost a year. 

  
  


These thoughts in her head, were they really Celena Schezar? For that matter, who was Celena Schezar? A naive little girl, laughing and playing in the sun? No. She couldn't be. Not anymore. But if not that girl, then who? All she knew of Celena was that girl, that was all she remembered . . .

  
  


No, not all. She also remembered the darkness, though she had tried desperately to forget. 

  
  


_ ---------Flash --------_

  
  


It was cold.

  
  


She could not remember where she was, how she came here, or anything before the dark, except. . . a face, yes she remembered a face. A kind smile, laughing blue eyes, soft golden hair. . . who. . . Argh! She screamed into the pit, her frustration finally getting the best of her. Why couldn't she remember? Everything was so cloudy, so vague. . .the face. . . Pain and despair washed over her and she withdrew deeper, deep into the murky void, where, she thought, the pain and despair could not touch her, could not reach.

  
  


Then, the voices had started. Faceless voices in the sea of dark, at first had terrified her, making her retreat deeper into the abyss. Then, slowly, she began to embrace the voices, a comfort in the darkness, a break from the solitude. She had tried to talk to the voices, ask them who, or what, they were, and where she was, but she was ignored. So she began to listen. Shouts, harsh, curt words, and then, the laughter. Not a cheerful, bright laughter or even a bitter, cynical chuckle, but a maniacal, insane cackle that ripped through her mind, and made her shudder in the dark. Soon however, even that didn't matter. At least it was something, something in the gloom. 

  
  


Then, soon after she had become accustomed to the voices, the visions began. Flickers of faces, people. . . young boys in blue armor, a tall man with pale hair and a sad face, and places, long metal corridors, and large dim rooms. Unlike the voices, which were roughly constant, all of these visions came in random flashes, breaking the darkness for mere moments at a time. But they awakened something in her, a feeling that had become dormant in the loneliness and pain of the dark. Joy.

  
  


Soon, she longed for the visions, the voices alone no longer enough to break the stifling gloom. Surprisingly, her silent prayers were answered, and the darkness began to recede, as the visions came more frequently, and lasted for longer each time. Finally the once terrifying darkness had almost completely disappeared, a small corner of the oblivion all that remained. 

  
  


She saw, through eyes that were not her own, a life of pain, hardness, even death, but anything was better than the dark. She watched and listened, and if the pain or the hardness became too much, she retreated into her small corner of darkness. As time went on however, she had to do this less and less. Even the death, the destruction, ceased to bother her. She began to enjoy the flames.

  
  


"Brother would not be pleased," she heard a voice say. It was an unfamiliar voice, feminine, soft, and it seemed to address her. Brother? Who is brother? 

  
  


"Brother would not be pleased," It said again, "These are not good things." What? Good things? What other things are there? All I have is the fire, the death. 

  
  


"What about love?" Love? I can't remember. . .

  
  


"Hope." Stop. Please. . .

  
  


"Compassion" No! Stop! It hurts! Make it stop hurting! So confused. . . 

  
  


The voices became silent, the visions faded, she was in the darkness once again. 

  
  


NOOOOOOOOO! She screamed into the dark. She could not handle this again, not after the joy. . . 

  
  


Why? She asked softly. Why now that I am happy?

  
  


"Because," It was the female voice again, "You shouldn't have been happy. What about Brother? What about love?"

  
  


I don't know love! She screamed into the dark. I can't remember!

  
  


"You must." the voice said. "This is not who you are."

  
  


What? She said to herself, just as a vision flooded to dark. A field, warm, sunny. A little girl, long ash blonde hair. Running. A boy, golden hair flowing behind him as he ran after the girl. His face, it was _the_ face. The face in the dark, she had tried to forget it, it brought pain and sadness even after the visions came. Brother. . .

  
  


NO! She screamed, and the vision blinked out. I was happy. She thought in the dark. All that face brings is pain! Confusion! I want to go back, back to the voices, the visions. . . the fire. . . Send me back! She screamed into the dark. I don't want to be alone!

  
  


"Celena. . ." The female voice began. NO! Send me back!

  
  


The laughter from the dark brought her back. She had never been that happy to hear that cackle. The visions, the voices, they had all returned. She settled into her warmth, faces and voices filling her mind. She wasn't alone. The darkness and the blonde boys face was pushed to the back of her mind. They would not bother her again. She was happy. 


	4. Vicious

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Good enough? 

AN/ Hullo All! I'm here to assure you that despite popular belief, and regardless of what festivities you may have planned, I am still, ALIVE!! And guess what? I'm updating! Part three and perhaps Part four of Dark Paradox will be out sometime this week, if not tonight, and maybe even a new chapter of Open Road! Oh, I know, please hold your applause, just throw money. . .*ahem* Anyway, this chapter begins to earn a PG-13 rating, with all its disturbing Dilly goodness, Yay! Still too short though, ah never mind. . . Read & Review and as always, Enjoy! 

  
  


Part Three - Vicious  
  


Cut. Thrust. Block. Thrust. The cold steel whipped through the air, its wielder's amazing speed making the lethal blade seem only a blur to anyone watching the incredible display. After the incident in the garden earlier that morning, Allen had strode silently into his large chambers on the upper floor of the Schezar family manor and changed into a pair of simple black breeches and a plain white cotton shirt. Fastening his sword back on its proper spot at his waist, Allen had made his way down the winding stone staircase to the fairly large room on the main floor of the house, which he had designated his for practice. Entering the sparse room, Allen slid his sword quietly out of its scabbard, the soft 'Shwing' of the steel leaving its case a strange comfort in his ear. Placing the scabbard on the lone wooden bench in one corner of the stark room, Allen began his deadly dance. Lunge. Slice. Block. Cut. Thrust. Block. All time seemed to stop, with Allen releasing all of his rage and sadness, all of the negative emotions which had plagued his mind for the past year, into the heated battle with his invisible foe. When he finally stopped to rest, a quick glance out one of the tiny windows in the room told him it was already late afternoon. He had been at this for hours, and now his body decided to prove that to him. As he bent slowly to retrieve his scabbard from its resting place, Allen's muscles screamed in protest, causing a slight wince to contort his somber face.  
  


"I'm not as young as I used to be. . ." He muttered as he trudged slowly back to his rooms, every step sending a jolt of pain to one part of his body or another and causing his sweat marked brow to furrow slightly. "Ugh. . ." He sighed as the oaken door to his chambers creaked open, reveling the surprising simple furnishings within. Dark wooden floors, forest green walls and darker green curtains, with a subdued pattern of golden leaves clearly visible on the latter, set the comfortable, cozy feel of the rooms.   
  


The main, or sitting room, had a large grey stone fireplace against the far wall, and a small bookcase opposite, which was filled with old leather bound books and nicknacks. Surrounding the fireplace was a small cream coloured sofa with a light green pattern of swirling leaves adoring the cushions, a set of two burgundy armchairs with a small wooden table between them, and, slightly apart from the rest, a large, rather worn looking, brown leather wingback chair with a matching ottoman. Removing his sword and its scabbard from his hip and placing it carefully on the stand beside the bookcase, Allen collapsed awkwardly into the leather chair, giving a sigh of relief as he melted into the soft leather seat. Stretching his long legs, Allen kicked of his boots and placed his tired feet gently on the ottoman. Convincing himself that he would only rest for a moment, Allen settled back, and slowly closed his deep blue eyes. . .  
  


----------- Flash -----------  
  


"Brother!" A small voice yelled. Allen turned his head to the voice, only to be knocked to the ground by an unseen force, "Brother!" came the voice again, its source the small girl, looking about fifteen years old, who had pinned him to the grass. Her bright blue eyes shone in the sunlight, and her curly blond hair rustled in the warm breeze.   
  


"Celena," Allen mused quietly as he stared at the young girl sitting on his chest. Suddenly a look of pure joy washed over his confused face, as he embraced his sister tightly. Jumping to his feet, Allen whirled around, continuing the embrace as Celena's joyous laughter filled the quiet landscape. Allen gently set is sister back on her feet, eyes never leaving her smiling face. "Celena!" he said again, a huge grin talking over his features.  
  


"Come on, Brother!" The young girl cried as she turned and dashed through the tall grass and the small blue and purple flowers of the field. The wind whipped her pale pink dress as she flew over another low hill, towards a large ash tree in the middle of the large field. Allen paused only for a moment to stare at the retreating back of the young girl before racing to catch up. Turning once to see her brother rapidly gaining on her, Celena laughed gleefully, quickening her pace as she flew over the last hill toward the lone tree. Allen, seeing her speed increase, pushed himself faster, farther up the hill. He lost sight of her as she crested the bank, but as he crossed the top himself, he realized that he could not see her at all. Eyes darting frantically around the field, Allen felt a wave of panic raise in his stomach and into his throat. He could not loose her, not again. Continuing his frantic search, Allen jerked his head around suddenly to the sound of a woman's scream in the direction of the large tree. Sure enough, there was Celena, standing beneath the branches of the massive tree, not 15 feet away. But she was not alone. Standing there behind his terrified sister, was Dilandau Albatou in his blood red armor. Fierce crimson eyes locked on Allen's horrified face, an evil grin contorting his features, the malicious young man had a long, wicked looking dagger, pressed to Celena's pale neck with one hand, and was gently stroking her soft cheek with the other. The poison in his eyes and the fear in Celena's caused Allen to take a tentative step toward the two, reaching for a sword that was not there. A slight gasp from his sister made him stop suddenly, as he saw small trickle of blood run slowly down her slender neck, staining the collar of her dress a deep vermillion. As Dilandau raised his venomous eyes to meet Allen's once again, a low chuckle emanated from deep in the monster's chest.  
  


"Now, now Allen Schezar," the boy began tauntingly, "Look what you've made me do." Another deep chuckle, as Dilandau turned his gaze to the frightened girl in his grasp. "Hello again. . ." He said, tilting her head with his free hand, causing their eyes to meet, rubies to sapphires, a look of mock concern on his face, "Did you miss me?" he paused, gaze shifting once again, this time to the trickle of blood flowing down his captive's neck. "I've missed you," he continued removing his hand from her head to wipe the dark trail from her pale skin, and then bringing his blooded fingers to his lips, "Hmmmm. . ." he sighed, tilting his head back slightly, his vicious eyes closing for a split second, long enough for Allen to begin a rush forward. Two strides and Dilandau's eyes snapped open, glaring at the approaching Allen. His grip tightened on the petrified girl, causing her to cry out in pain as the blade dug deeper into her soft flesh. "I don't think your brother has learned his lesson my dear," Dilandau said, vile grin returning to his face, "How unfortunate. . ."  
  


Hearing this, Allen skidded to a halt, "No Dilandau. . ." he began, his voice pleading, "Please. . ." Panic began to fill Allen's eyes, replacing the anger that was once there.  
  


"Why Allen, you look genuinely terrified," Dilandau's smile grew as he spoke, making him look increasingly devilish. "I didn't know you cared so much for the little bitch. That will make this a lot more fun!" With amazing speed, Dilandau's head was bent over Celena's forcing a rough kiss on the young girl's lips, staining them with her own blood as the dagger in his hand quickly slit her throat from ear to ear. He broke the kiss with a mad cackle as Celena's life blood gushed down her front, soaking her dress a brilliant crimson. Dilandau pushed her lifeless body forward onto the quickly darkening grass below, his blood soaked hand once again raising to his lips, muffling the insane giggle slowly escaping his throat. With a cry of anguish, Allen rushed forward and knelt beside his fallen sister, Dilandau's spiteful laughter filling his mind as the tears fell freely down his face. Looking up from the limp form in his arms, he met the other man's cruel glare with nothing but hate. It only made Dilandau laugh harder.  
  


Jolting awake, Allen was filled with a sense of overwhelming dread, the distinct taste of bile filling his mouth.

  
  


AN/ Nothing to say here, I just like writing these. . . hmmm. . .ok, you can go now.


	5. Concern and Haste

Disclaimer: I'm not writing anymore of these, read any previous disclaimers, from any other chapter or fanfic ever, and that's basically the gist of what this would say, ok? Ok.

  
  


AN/ Oh, another chapter. . . another boring, action-less chapter. . . yay. . .

  
  


Part Four - Concern and Haste

  
  


"Celena!" Allen screamed as he bolted upright from his leather chair. His eyes darted around the darkened room, panic contorting his features and tightened in his chest. Looking around, he half expected to see Dilandau leap at him from the shadows, with a dagger still glistening with his sisters blood, or to find himself kneeling in a sunny field, with Celena's lifeless body growing cold in his arms. 

  
  


A dream. It was only a dream. 

  
  


He looked around his chambers, and moved to open his curtains. For some reason he found the darkness of the room unnerving. The light of the now setting sun bathed everything in a warm golden glow as he quickly opened the drapes of both huge windows of the sitting room. Leaning on one of the window frames, Allen brought a slightly shaking hand to his forehead, warm against the cold sheen of sweat now present there.

  
  


Allen was abruptly brought back from his reflections by the sound of running footsteps in the hallway outside his door. He left the window and began to make his way towards the door to see what the problem was when whoever was in the hall began banging on the door and jiggling the knob. 

  
  


"Commander!" It was Gaddes's voice, "Allen, are you alright?!" He sounded very concerned, even using the knight's first name. Allen quickly strode over, unlocked the door and flung it open, only to be roughly knocked to the floor by someone. He looked up at his attacker, and Gaddes looked down at him, obviously very embarrassed.

  
  


"Sorry Boss," He said nervously, as he disentangled himself from his commander. "We heard you yell, and we thought something was wrong, and when you didn't answer right away we tried the latch, but it was locked so we were going to break the door down incase you were hurt or anything, and that's when you opened the door. . ."

  
  


"Whoa, take it easy," Allen said to his second in command, who apparently had quite a scare, "No harm done." Allen got quickly to his feet and looked into the hallway. Reeden, Kio, Pyle, Oruto, Katz and Teo were all jammed into the area of the hall directly in front of his doorway, quite a feat considering the relative width of the corridor compared to Kio's girth alone. They all began sheathing their blades, swords, daggers, throwing knives, etc, when they saw that he was unhurt, a huge amount of weaponry. How loudly could he have cried out?

  
  


Turning back to the still embarrassed Gaddes, Allen tried to keep down a smirk as he asked, "So, what exactly did you guys hear? A guymelef breaking through my window? Or perhaps a small army of mercenaries, come to kill me in my sleep?"

  
  


"Well Commander," Gaddes began, trying very hard not to meet Allen's gaze, "We were all downstairs, having just come back from town, it's our day off, and well, we had gone into the city for some fun, anyway we were heading down to our rooms, we heard you yell. It was like nothing we had ever heard before, bloodcurdling really. . .What happened anyhow, if you don't mind me asking sir?"

  
  


Allen's grin left his face, and his eyes seemed to glaze over. He stood there for a moment, staring at nothing, breath coming slowly. Then suddenly, his eyes focused on Gaddes again, a small smile returning to his paled face, though never reaching his eyes.

  
  


"A dream, just a bad dream. . ." He said, quietly. Then, "What time is it? I must have dozed off. It was late afternoon, last I remember."

  
  


"It's 'bout nineteen hundred, boss" Reeden called out from the hall.

  
  


"Nineteen hundred!" Allen said, slight panic in his voice "I've only got a quarter glass to get ready for dinner," He muttered something under his breath, and then, "Alright, if you guys are done gawking. . ." before he had finished the oaken door was closed in his face and he heard seven sets of footsteps, and several grunts and curses, as his crew all tried to leave the cramped hallway at once. 

  
  


Allen sighed, bringing his hand up to his temples, when he remembered what he had to do. Dinner. He looked down, noticing that he was still in sweat stained training clothes, and, much to his distress, that he smelled. 

  
  


Well, ten blasted glass of training will do that to a person. . . He thought irritably. He would have to bathe, better to be late for diner than to smell like carrion. He hoped that his guests would understand.

  
  


Treading quickly through his small study, and into his personal bath, Allen removed his soiled shirt, throwing it hastily into a corner of the blue tiled room. Eyes roaming the small room, passing over the small privy, the slightly chipped porcelain sink, the large mirror above it, they finally came to rest on the large white tub in the far corner. He did not have time to call a servant with hot water, having to settle instead with bathing in room temperature water from the large jug beside the sink, normally used for washing hands and faces. Stripping off breeches and small clothes, the golden-haired knight stepped into the empty tub, lifting the porcelain jug above his chest and pouring about a fourth of its contents over his body. Grabbing a small bar of spiced soap from a small shelf behind him, Allen worked a light lather over his body, then proceeded to rinse himself off with about half of the remaining contents of the water jug. He could not risk wetting his hair, it would not dry in time, and give him the appearance of a drowned cat, so after stepping out of the tub and wrapping a large blue towel around his waist, Allen made his way over to the sink and mirror, and picked up a small glass bottle from the basin's rim. Unscrewing the cap, Allen poured a few drops of the light coloured liquid within onto his hands, then proceeded to run them through his long, thick hair. The smell of sandalwood was distinct, strong, but not overpowering, and masked the scent of his sweat well. Allen then grabbed the large wooden brush from its place beside the bottle of cologne and pulled it swiftly through his golden strands, getting rid of the slight bed-head he had acquired from his nap. This done, Allen splashed his face with a bit of the remaining water, then quickly made his way out of the bathroom and into his bedchambers, opening the medium-sized wardrobe and grabbed the clean uniform therein. 

  
  


Dropping the towel from his waist, Allen hastily pulled on a fresh pair of small clothes, followed in turn by the dark blue, slightly snug breeches, then a light cotton shirt, white as snow, with its thrice damned leg o' mutton sleeves, Allen was sure were designed by someone with a truly sick sense of humor. He then pulled up the doublet-like portion of his outfit, which was actually an extension of his pants, and fastened each of the shoulder clasps and the front buttons. His skirt was secured next, as he rushed out of his bedroom and back into the sitting room, where his sword and boots awaited him. After clipping the baldrick about his waist, though leaving the sword and scabbard behind, and tugging on the brown leather boots, Allen nearly flew out into the hallway, dashing down the long staircase, adjusting his cravat and pulling on his gloves on the way. He might just make it in time.

  
  


He finally approached the large oak doors which led into the dinning room, pausing before them to shift his belt and run a hand through his hair one more time, Allen let out a breath and slowly pushed open the portal. Three sets of eyes turned to focus on his entrance, and Allen smiled,

  
  


"Hello," He said 

  
  


AN/ Can you say "zero editing". . . there, I knew you could! Oh, who is Allen seeing for dinner? What is Allen's skirty thing really called? Why are you still reading this? These questions are among many others soon to be answered, (or not) so stay tuned!


	6. An Eventful Dinner

AN/ Whoohoo! I'm back! You know the drill, read, review (please), enjoy. Talk to ya'll later.

  
  


Part Five - An Eventful Dinner 

  
  


"Allen," said the raven haired boy as he stood from his chair at the table. Van took a few steps forward and clasped the older man's hand in his own, "It's good to see you again,"

  
  


"It's good to see you as well Van," Allen replied, slapping a palm on the other's shoulder, "It's been too long,"

  
  


"Almost a year," The young King mused, releasing his friend, "How have you been?" Allen's smile wavered for a moment, but he quickly recovered, hoping no one else had noticed,

  
  


"Well, my friend, and yourself? How is Fanelia coming?" 

  
  


"Better than I could have hoped," Van's dark eyes seemed to dance as he thought of his country, "Reconstruction is almost complete, it's going to be better than before Allen,"

  
  


"Of that I have no doubt Van," Allen grinned down at his friend and gave his shoulder one last pat before turning to his other guests, bowing deeply at the waist,

  
  


"My King, My Queen," He said solemnly, "I welcome into my home,"

  
  


"Come now Allen," Millerna giggle slightly, "There is no need for such formality. We're all friends here,"

  
  


"Quite right," Came a deep voice from behind the Queen. Dryden wrapped one arm around his wife's shoulders, the other reaching down to take both of her slender hands with his own, "Loosen up a bit, my friend," Millerna gazed up at her husband, leaning back against his chest. A year ago, Allen would have killed the man, now he smiled,

  
  


"I'll try, Dryden," he said as he straightened completely and made his way towards the table. Gazing at the empty setting, Allen frowned slightly, "Where is my sister?" He asked

  
  


"We don't know," Millerna replied, "We expected her to come with you," The guests had seated themselves on the opposite side of the table to Allen, with Dryden directly across from him, Millerna on her husband's right, Van on her other side, sitting across from the vacant chair. Allen scowled, where could she be? Just as he was about to excuse himself for a moment to find her, the large doors burst open to reveal a disheveled, very damp Celena, still in her green sundress from earlier that morning, stained and soaked from the rain and the grass where she had knelt. Her pale silver and gold hair was plastered to her brow, tangled and dripping into her eyes, which were slightly swollen and red. Has it started raining again? Allen wondered, How long has she been outside?

  
  


He was broken from his trance as Celena began to speak,

  
  


"Please excuse my lateness," She mumbled as she trudged toward the table, head bowed, eyes never leaving the hardwood floor. She looked so out of place in her soiled clothes and sopping hair, against Allen's pristine uniform, Millerna's pale rose dress with its frills and lace, and Dryden's stately robes of blue and green with their golden embroidery. Even Van's simple tan breeches and black silk tunic outshone Celena's shabby condition.

  
  


Silently taking her seat, Celena never lifted her eyes from the plate before her, not even seeming to notice the others at the table as she lifted her butter knife and began to twirl it between her fingers. Allen cleared his throat, shooting a worried glance at his sister. She didn't respond.

  
  


"Celena," he began quietly, "Allow me to introduce King Dryden and Queen Millerna visiting from Palas," Allen motioned toward the pair across the table. No response, "And this," He continued, trying desperately to keep the unease from his voice, "Is Van Fanel, King of Fanelia," 

  
  


That last word seemed to peak his sister's interest, the knife in her hand ceased its spinning and her eyes raised ever so slightly to meet Van's own,

  
  


"Fanelia. . ." She murmured, "I remember Fanelia. . ." Van's eyes held a bit of distrust as he gazed at the strange girl before him, and his voice seemed slightly suspicion as he responded,

  
  


"I did not know you had visited Fanelia, my lady. When were you there last?" Celena's eyes seemed to flash, her pupils dilating oddly, but she seemed to dismiss occurrence as she blinked rapidly, once, twice, and shook her head slightly,

  
  


"No, I have not been to Fanelia. What I meant to say was that I remembered the stories my brother told me of Fanelia. A beautiful land I hear, green and lush. . ." The girl trailed off the knife beginning to spin once again, her eyes dropping. Servants entered, carrying bowls of soup and several bottles of wine.

  
  


"It is beautiful," Van replied, dipping his spoon into the broth before him, "Perhaps you could visit one day?" Again, Celena offered no response. Allen lifted his eyes from his soup, glancing at his sister with anxiety clear on his face,

  
  


"Celena, King Van asked you a question. It is rude to ignore guests," Nothing. Spin, spin. "Celena. . ." He said again, more insistently. Spin, spin.

  
  


"It's all right Allen," Van said hastily, "I realize that your sister hasn't been quite herself lately. Really, its fine. I understand completely." The spinning suddenly stopped. Celena's head raised, the corner of her small mouth twitching slightly as she regarded the boy before her,

  
  


"You. . .understand?" Her voice was a low hiss, almost inaudible. Her eyes seemed to blaze again, pupils growing large, then contracting into pinpricks. Without warning Celena was over the table, knocking Van from his chair and pinning him across the chest with her legs. Millerna screamed, collapsing backwards into a startled Dryden, Allen jumped to his feet, cursing himself for not bringing his sword. The butter knife Celena had been twirling was pressed against Van's exposed throat as they lay on the floor, her other hand gripping his head, forcing his eyes to meet hers,

  
  


"Anyone moves," She said in a voice strangely huskier than usual, "He dies." Allen froze, he could do nothing. Millerna stared in horror from Dryden protective embrace as Celena leaned forward, stopping her face a mere finger's width from Van's own. Her pupils were slowly expanding and retracting, her irises changed from their normal sapphire blue to a hazy violet, and her mouth tugged up into a vicious smirk. She moved her head so that she could whisper directly into his ear, lips brushing the lobe and the side of his face as she spoke,

  
  


"You cannot possibly understand my pain Vaaan. . ."She drew out his name in a sickening manner, "You could never understand my pain. The pain you caused Van, my men, my Jajuka, my face. . ." The had which clutched his hair released and lifted to trace an invisible line down the young girls cheek, "I still haven't repaid you for those Van, but I will. . ." The pressure of the blade on Van's neck increased, and he let out a small gasp. Celena raised her head and stared at the young king beneath her, wicked grin growing on her face. Then her right eye began to twitch, her grin slowly fade, and her grip on the blade begin to loosen. 

  
  


Van knew that he should take this opportunity to escape the girls grip, but he could not move, some sick curiosity held him in place. A scream then erupted from the girl on his chest, a primal wail which rang through a person's skull and sent shivers down the spine. The knife skittered across the floor, as Celena threw herself off of Van, crawling away across the floor like a frightened animal, to curl her arms protectively around herself in a far corner of the large room.

  
  


The entire gathering was silent, unmoving, staring at the crumpled form in the shadows, trembling and sobbing to herself. Allen was the first to break out of his trance, rushing to his fallen sister, kneeling beside her and cradling her gently in his strong arms. Her weeping seemed to grow worse at his touch, as she clung to his uniformed chest while he murmured soothing noises into her hair. He stood up with her still in his arms and turned back to his guests, decidedly more unsettled than they had been previously. Millerna and Dryden had helped Van to his feet, and the Fanelian king was now leaning against the table on which rested the disheveled mess that had once been their dinner. Millerna was in hysterics, enfolded in her husband's robes as he hugged her shaking body close to him. Van was staring blindly into space as he rubbed a hand across his neck, over the thin red scrape adoring it. Allen approached his company, keeping a distance proper for one holding a king's attacker in their arms,

  
  


"Van. . ." He said quietly. The young man's eyes snapped into focus, turning to rest on the tall knight's face. The anxiety and fear were evident on Allen's angelic features, and his voice held so much anguish, "Van, are you alright? I'm so sorry, I have no idea what happened, she's never done anything like this before. . .I'm so sorry Van." The sable haired youth raised his hand from his neck to his temple, massaging it gently. He shook his head,

  
  


"That wasn't her, Allen, that was him."

  
  


Well, dinner at the Schezar house. . . okay, anyone who didn't see that coming, raise your hand. All of you with hands in the air, I'm afraid I'm going to ask you to leave. Oh, I'm just joking *^_~* What about Celena then? All kinds of crazy, ne? Anyway, please review! I know I haven't written in a while, and I try my best not to beg for reviews, it's not my cup of tea, but I really need some encouragement. Oh, and all of you who also follow Open Road, new chapter almost done, it will probably be out before the middle of the week. Ok, I think that's all for now, 

  
  


Ta all 


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